


Ocean Eyes

by FallonSong



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-18
Updated: 2012-04-18
Packaged: 2017-11-03 20:39:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/385698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallonSong/pseuds/FallonSong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Destiel High School AU, at least slightly in the beginning.</p>
<p>Dean and Castiel were best friends, but sometimes it felt like that wasn't enough for Castiel. Dean didn't mean to push him away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ocean Eyes

Best friends  
Ex-Friends till the end  
Better off as lovers  
And not the other way around  
-Fall Out Boy

 

Castiel’s eyes were like the ocean, unfathomable, filled with some depth of emotion Dean often feared he would find himself drowning in. Though most people all their lives treated them like brothers, there was some…feeling. An increase of heart rate, a flutter in the stomach, something simply there that had always been present, not in a brotherly way. That scared Dean badly enough he found himself short tempered with Cas sometimes. Like in ninth grade when Dean tried out for football and became quarterback, while Castiel was more focused on painting and getting a scholarship for some art college.

“Don’t you want to get somewhere with yourself? Instead of staying stuffed up in that stupid art room?”

Castiel huffed, crossing his arms stubbornly.

“Don’t you want to go somewhere with yourself? Instead of chasing men around a field all day?”

The question had no real embarrassing context, but Dean found his face heating up, which in turn made Castiel’s face flush.

“I’m sorry Dean,” Castiel said, looking at his shoes.

“No problem.”

Sam watched his brother struggle with something, and it pained him. He knew, in a way, that Castiel was a major part of his brother’s frustration, but there was no way to know to what extent. Sam was always the comforting type, so when Castiel was over, he tried to find ways to get him alone and ask.

As Dean progressed into his junior year, it became easy.

When the boys were younger, their mother had been sitting at home with them when a robber broke in. It was all over the news. The remorseful murder. He wanted money, and he had never handled a gun before. He thought maybe the mere sight of it would be enough. He didn’t mean to pull the trigger.

She had died, putting her body in front of theirs, protecting them, like she always had. Sam had been very young, but Dean had been old enough to remember, and he still had the nightmares.

Their father became determined to drown himself in alcohol and stay in the forest, hunting, fishing, anything. Anything.

There were babysitters, at first. Then Dean took on the role of father, teaching Sam to tie his shoes, make a sandwich, and even how to wear the cool clothes so he wouldn't get picked on. Not that anyone should dare to try.

When Dean reached high school years, he was determined to party the most he possibly could. He never regretted raising Sammy, but he wanted to make up for the years of waiting for their father to come home, never knowing whether he was alive or dead for several weeks at a time.

So around the end of Dean’s junior year, Castiel came and babysat Sam, much to Sam’s annoyance at first. He protested and screamed at Dean at first, because he wanted to go out with his friends too, and Castiel had been around so much it was just weird to think of him being there for Sam.

Over time, however, he genuinely grew to enjoy Castiel and was concerned for the growing tension between him and his brother.

“What’s going on?” he asked Castiel one day, finally able to get him alone.

Castiel had set a painting up in the living room, easel and all. He basically lived there after he and Dean discovered their friendship. Castiel had the same absent father, minus the murdered mother. He didn’t even know who his mother was, and his father occupied himself as a trucker, only sending checks in the mail and coming home when he was forced to.

Castiel even claimed the spare bedroom a few years back.

He answered Sam’s question as he leaned forward to inspect the blank paper.

“Dean is unsure of himself at the moment. He is trying to find a balance between his father and being a father before he could be a teenager.”

Sam flopped on the couch, sighing.

“It’s my fault?” he asked, voice terribly sad.

Castiel set his paintbrush down next to his easel, turning to lock eyes with Sam.

“No, Sam. You have never been the cause of Dean’s sadness. Not once.”

Their senior year ended everything, all because of Anna Milton. The popular, pretty cheerleader whispered loudly to her friend one day that she liked Dean, and then it spread like wildfire. The good girl with the bad boy football player? A match made in heaven. The school followed the new couple eagerly, as if they were some icon or a famous couple that could be found in a magazine.

Castiel watched them in the background, noncommittal, uncaring. Completely indifferent. At first.

For ten months Castiel endured watching Dean prance around with her, not even caring to look at other girls, not caring enough about himself to step forward and say something. He felt so betrayed by Dean dating this girl, he felt sick to his stomach.

When Sam broke his foot skateboarding, and Dean refused to pick up the phone because he was off with Anna, Castiel had had it.

Dean stumbled in the waiting room two hours after the incident, slightly hung over and covered in hickeys, and Castiel lost it.

“What is the matter with you Dean?!” he growled, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and shaking him roughly.

Dean blinked in amazement, trying to understand where the sudden rage had come from. His mind seemed to be working rather slolwly.

“He just broke his foot. It’s not like he’s deathly ill or anything,” he said while trying to make some distance between himself and Castiel. The closeness of him was bringing on those unwanted feelings, and it made him feel even sicker than he already did.

“But he could have been, Dean!” Castiel shook him again. A nurse eyed them curiously before bustling away. Neither cared. They were in their own personal bubble of confusion and anger.

“He could have been hit by a car, or fallen off the roof trying to fix the shingles, which you haven’t been around to do! What has happened to you?!”

The question struck him so hard, Dean went limp and stared at the floor.

“I don’t know, Cas. It’s just not fair.”

‘”It’s not fair to him either, Dean. Just because you’ve been taking on all of these responsibilities since you were five does not mean he has to,” he said icily.

With that, he let Dean go, grabbing his jacket and stalking towards the door.

“Cas! Where are you going?”

His friend stopped, and turned around slowly. He drew a tired hand through his tousled hair and frowned.

“I just can’t deal with you anymore Dean. I can’t babysit both you and Sam. I wish you both well. Keep my clothes and paintings, I really don’t care anymore. I’m just going to find somewhere and start over.”

The automatic doors slid open, and Castiel was gone, leaving Dean alone with the echoes of the harsh words. The truth, bounced back at him in such an unavoidable way, was enough to make Dean Winchester settle into the nearest chair and cry until the curious nurse from before told him he could take Sam home.

Sam didn’t mention Dean’s red eyes, and Dean didn’t mention the cast or his absence.

Nor did he question Cas’s.

 

Two Years Later:

 

“Alright, Sam. Whatever. I’ll drive you to the stupid art show. Why are you interested in such pansy things anyway?”

Dean clutched the phone with one hand and the T.V. remote with the other, switching from comedies to cartoons indecisively.

As he asked Sam the question, it struck a chord with in him that vibrated painfully. He had said similar lines before, after all.

“Thanks Dean. I just want you to get out more, you know?”

“Yeah.”

After high school, Dean tried out for the nearest university’s football team. After a year of it, he had been injured and tired and sore, and found himself doing it for no reason other than it was what he had always done.

He had an apartment nearby the college, much to his displeasure. Leaving Sam in that terrible house was torture, but Sam insisted his brother go and make something of himself, that he would be fine.

It hurt badly at first, the thought of leaving him, but Dean made sure Sam was well. He got a job as a waiter at the fanciest, stuffiest restaurant in perhaps the entire state and sent Sam as much money as possible.

When he finally had enough money, he gave Sam the Impala and bought himself another car.

“Dean…” Sam had gasped when he first understood what was happening.

“Why would you give me your car?”

Dean shrugged, embarrassed.

“I couldn’t leave you with a crappy car.”

He did his best, and if Sam wanted to go to an art show, fine. Whatever. Sam needed to get out more, not Dean. Dean had all he needed.

When they arrived, the gallery was actually crowded, to Dean’s astonishment. He thought art shows were underground things only rich people and weird kids attended. There was actually an array of normal looking people, so maybe it wouldn’t be too bad.

Sam was almost like a kid in the toy isle; he flew around the room wildly, admiring one painting after another and hitting on pretty girls. Dean couldn’t help but to chuckle at his brother’s childishness. He deserved to be this way for a while longer, after all.

He tried to preoccupy himself with the free food at first, but even that became boring after a while and he gave in and looked at the paintings.

There was a painting of a bird hanging upside down, and the leaves on the tree seemed inverted. Weird. There was another of a fox walking on water, sunlight gleaming in his world while his reflection was being snowed upon. Okay then.

Each painting seemed to be weirder than the last, and none really held any interest for him. They just seemed drab, and some downright ridiculous.

He groaned, wishing Sam would hurry up. He turned away from a painting of an orange in mud (what the hell) and found himself staring into his own eyes.

The eyes shocked him so much that he jumped and emitted some strange noise of shock that he made reflexively more than anything.

It took him a moment to register they were a pair of eyes looking out from a wild field of grass, but they were still his eyes, undoubtedly. 

Above the wild tangles, the sky was a deep blue, almost like water. There were no clouds, nor was the sun present. Only a pair of dark blue eyes, and there was no mistaking whose they were.

The plaque flaunted the title, as well as a bit of back story, announcing the original had been bought for a ridiculous amount of money.

Of Earth and Sky.

That was the name.

Sam drifted over, a soft smile on his face.

“Hey Dean. Ready to go?”

He halted after registering his brother’s deer-in-headlights expression, and then followed his eyes to the painting.

“Dean? Is that you?” he asked, stunned.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Dean whispered.

His brother shrugged, half-laughing.

“Yeah. I’m crazy. It’s really nice though. Shame we couldn’t buy a copy of it.”

Dean didn’t tell him they had the true original, that this was just a repainting of it. That Castiel had left it at their house almost three years ago.

If Castiel painted this, then he must be around here somewhere. The thought brought a nervous flush racing over Dean’s skin, followed by doubt.

How many artists were actually here? Few, he was sure. There was no way Castiel would be here.

“Dean.”

The voice seemed to echo above all the others, reaching him and tugging at his heartstrings, just like it had three years ago in the hospital waiting room. He felt every fiber of his being warm up, with embarrassment, joy, long buried anger and betrayal, and several other feelings that balanced each other between negative and positive.

As he turned, he wasn’t sure what to expect. Maybe Castiel had grown his hair out shaggy, or he was now wearing cheap jogging suits and glasses. Or maybe fancy suits. He could certainly afford them.

What he saw was so much better.

Castiel had been slim in high school, heavily preferring fruit and coffee and hardly moving from in front of his easel.

Now, he was sturdy, but not large, muscled, but not grossly so. His hair was the slightest degree longer, but was still ruffled, like he didn’t care. He wore blue jeans and a Doctor Who shirt, fitted loose and splattered with paint. His eyes were still the same, but now they seemed deeper, more distant. He used to regard Dean with such guarded and smoldering looks, but now the depths held unease.

“Do you like the painting?”

His voice was still rough.

Dean turned; trying to look like he still knew the room around him existed.

“It’s…us.”

Castiel smiled wryly, just like he used to. The smile brought on so much pain that Dean had to close his eyes and focus on breathing.

“I had a lot of angry emotions after….”

He cleared his throat, locking eyes with the green ones on the painting.

“Painting was a wondrous outlet.”

Dean’s heart jerked. What had happened between them? Why had Castiel stayed away from them so long, and why was he back now? He had to know; this was what he had been hoping for, after all. Just one time, to see him again, to have closure, to let Castiel to understand, and to ask him why he had been angry enough to literally walk out of his life without a solid goodbye.

He just had to know.

“Want to get a coffee?” he asked, casually compared to the thoughts raging in him.

Castiel blinked, surprised.

“Sure, Dean.”

Dean located Sam and told him he was going to grab a coffee with an old friend, and that he would be back later. Sam nodded absently, eying a pretty red haired girl admiring another of Castiel’s painting, this one showing the ocean and two people floating on the surface.

The only almost normal paintings.

At the coffee shop, Castiel ordered for the both of them, speaking a fancy Starbucks language Dean guessed only rich artists and writers knew. Oh, and celebrities.

As they sat down, and Dean took a drink of his coffee, which tasted odd but delightful, he eyed Castiel uncertainly.

He had always been almost awkward around school, sought after and wanted, but never settling. He was entirely elusive, to the dismay of almost everyone. The rare moments you could prompt him into a conversation, he proved to be a funny guy.

Dean wondered if he was still the same.

“So have you married?” Castiel asked casually, as if they were several years older and the answer should have been yes, followed by a name of some lucky woman.

Dean laughed at the thought of being married to anyone so young. He was still so busy with his own life and Sam's, he didn't think he could settle down just when it was all beginning.

“Of course not. I’m too busy with football.”

Castiel raised his eyebrows, but seemed pleased all the same.

“What about Anna Milton?”

The question brought a stone cold reality upon their reunion, a splash of cold water on their warm conversation. Way to go, Cas. Then again, Castiel was always blunt.

“I left her. Right after you left me.”

He didn’t mean to say it in that context, but deep down, maybe he meant it. It had felt way worse being left by Castiel than leaving Anna. He remembered her face, eyes wide and stunned, her mouth hanging open slightly.

“You’re breaking up with me, just like that? But, Dean, baby, why?”

He stared off into the distance, absent mindlessly wondering if maybe Cas didn’t mean it, that he was just mad and would storm in the next night, throwing abandoned paintings in the trash and slamming his bedroom door. He scarcely remembered Anna was there at the time. It took all his concentration to focus on her.

“It’s just not working, Babe. See you around.”

He spent the first few weeks asleep in the living room, in the recliner that faced the main door. Waiting for Castiel to walk in and say he was sorry, and that everything was going to be okay. Even after two years of sometimes sitting up in bed expectantly, hearing the door open, he was always disappointed when it was their dad, which was odd, or even their uncle, Bobby, coming to check on them.

Three whole years. Even after going away to college, he was scared to leave that house; because that was the only thing Castiel could possibly return to.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said, bringing Dean back to the present. “I know you really loved her.”

Dean smiled, hearing the same pleased tone and enjoying it immensely.

“She was annoying. And when I was around her I forgot a lot of important things.”

A pause.

“And important people.”

The silence between them was heavy, but pleasant. Maybe it was because something was finally righted, the world was no longer askew and maybe, finally, Dean could find his peace.

Or maybe, something could begin. Because maybe it was the time apart, but the thing that had always been there that was furiously denied, was suddenly welcomed with open arms. Away from the drama, and anger, the judgmental stares.

“You know there isn’t much I could give you,” Dean admitted, regretfully. He was struggled with his apartment as is, and what could he offer this clearly rich artist?

“You don’t remember the tree house?” Castiel asked with a hint of mischief in his eyes. God, those eyes. They held so much, so much of everything Dean was. Of course he remembered the tree house.

Dean didn’t have to even search for the memory; it was simply there in his words.

They had been fifteen, three years before the hospital incident.

Castiel had been making breakfast like he always did; playing the motherly role while Dean read the paper and Sam struggled to finish his math homework so he could go skateboarding with the neighbor.

It was a Saturday.

They were almost a perfect Hallmark family; except the mom was a guy and they were only fifteen and raising themselves as well as an 11 year old.

“I would love a tree house,” Castiel said thoughtfully, gazing out the window while he waited for the toast to pop out.

“A tree house?” Sam exclaimed, looking up from his homework curiously.

“No way. We don’t have time for that, Cas. And what are you, ten?”

“Hey!” Sam cried.

“You’re 11, dude,” Dean ruffled his brother’s hair affectionately.

“Oh right.”

He returned to math.

“Why do you want a tree house anyway, Cas?”

His friend shrugged, almost appearing embarrassed.

“I don’t know. A neat place to paint, maybe?”

The conversation was dropped after that, with Castiel thinking Dean thought of him as lame and Dean thinking Castiel thought of him as a jerk. A week later, Castiel walked outside to find a fully constructed tree house, with an exhausted Dean asleep under the tree. He had been absent of late, working with the art teacher to get ready for a student showcase, so he hadn't been around often enough to realize Dean was doing THIS.

Stunned, he walked forward to inspect everything. On the ground were nails and scrap wood, as well as a book that boasted it could teach you to build anything. Like a tree house.

“Thank you, Dean,” he told his sleeping friend.

He walked around meticulously, picking up the nails and wood so that Dean wouldn’t roll over them in his sleep.

When he was done, the yard was dark and fireflies flitted around lazily.

Looking at Dean, Castiel realized then that he liked him far more than he should have. There had always been that feeling, but it had never been so acknowledged, so strong.

Dean awoke around eleven that night, Castiel’s jacket covering him. He didn’t question it, of course. He stood, and walked in with the tan jacket around his shoulders.

 

“Yeah, I remember that stupid tree house,” Dean told him, grinning.

“That was where I painted the original of ‘Of Earth and Sky’.”

The thought of Cas, sitting in the tree house and thinking of Dean enough to paint that beautiful picture, made his heart flutter. He knew good and well what was happening, but after all these years of waiting, he was excited.

“I still have your original. I hung it in my room back home. It’s in my apartment now, on my dresser.”

They locked eyes, affectionately, finding the same routine they had always had before. The ocean eyes, guarded before, now were open and warm, and Dean wanted nothing more than to read the thoughts drifting in them, nothing else needed, no more questions. 

No more waiting. No more pain.

Leaning forward, they let their lips touch across the table, oblivious to all the stares and disgusted faces. Who needed them? Who cared? Dean had waited three years to make things right with Cas, and now here he was, finally where he should be. He had thought he might be gay or at least bisexual for the longest time, but that seemed wrong. He didn’t ever feel for another guy like he did for Castiel. Then again, there was never a girl who made him feel like this.

He did not prefer girls, not guys. He just direly needed Castiel. That was all.

As they broke apart, another couple kissing caught his eye.

“Sammy?” he called, snickering.

His brother was here making out with the curvy red head, with even less shame than he and Castiel had been.

Sam broke away, impassive as he realized who Dean was here with, who he was kissing.

“Hey, you’re just as guilty.” He shrugged, not even surprised to see his old friend and baby sitter here, kissing his brother.

It took him just a moment, and then it clicked in Dean’s head.

“You knew Castiel would be at the art show,” he cried accusingly.

Sam laughed, and then turned to meet the girl’s lips.

“Guilty again."

Castiel laughed, and after moment of sulking, Dean joined in.

 

Several Months Later:

 

“How’s it coming along?” Sam asked, squinting against the sun.

“Almost there. Should take about three more months,” Dean answered, entirely too optimistic.

Castiel beamed at his boyfriend before rushing off to get drinks for them.

The two brothers stood at the edge of a yard, gazing at a fair sized house that was becoming more and more developed each and every day. Sam was proud of him, and delighted his hunch about the art show had been right. Now that Dean was so wrapped up in his own bliss, it felt like a good time to admit something that didn’t even matter.

“Dean. I hate art,” he admitted.

Dean regarded his brother, looked around for Castiel, and then lowered his voice.

“Me too!”

They laughed happily, well after Castiel came back with lemonade and demanded to know what was going on.

“Nothing, Cas,” Dean giggled, the only instance he ever really sounded gay.

“So why three bedrooms?” Sam asked.

This was technically their first home, and they were to share a room.

“Two spare rooms,” Dean said. “Just in case. And who knows, maybe we could adopt some kids someday?”

Castiel’s face glowed. He was always the more domestic one.

“Can we go ahead and paint the rooms?” he asked.

“Whatever you want. You’re paying for it all, anyway,” Dean replied.

Sam left, off to see the red head again. Her name was Christy, and she seemed good for his brother. Maybe they would work out, maybe they wouldn’t. You never knew what could happen, after all.

Dean thought this all through as he looked at Castiel, gazing reverently at their almost home. As he turned, Dean felt himself drawn into his eyes again. They were the one thing that constantly stunned him, leaving him breathless. They always threatened to consume him sometimes, to drown him.

“It’s absolutely beautiful,” Castiel told him softly.

“Hey,” Dean said, bending down and scooping up a construction hat that lay next to the tool box. He slapped it on his head, a playful smile gracing his lips.

“If I could build a stupid tree house in a few days, I can damn sure build a house in under a year.”

“I know, Dean. I know.”

They kissed softly, perfectly at peace, where they always should have been.

The ocean’s waters were finally calm as the earth embraced the sky.


End file.
